


Take the Stars from My Eyes

by karrenia_rune



Category: Grimm (TV), Lost Girl
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-05 14:29:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4183353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dyson and Kenzie stumble into the world of Grimms and Wessens by coming to the aid of a young man who may or not be the reincarnated spirit of the ancient Irish Warrior, the Hound of Ulster, Cu Chulain. However, this may  not come to pass if a certain Wessen has her way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take the Stars from My Eyes

Disclaimer: Grimm belongs to NBC television and Lost Girl belongs to SYFY.  
Written for Case Story 5.0.

"Take the Stars from My Eyes" by Karrenia

Dyson and Kenzie had been trying to escape from a mob of Dark Fay hunters and had fully expected to wind up at one of the many safe houses set up by Dyson's allies. That is, once they had ascertained their exact space time location, then make their way to Bo's house and safely bring his charge back home. 

What he had not expected was that his disorientation would be as strong as it was. When he had recovered enough to stand up and get a good look around, the first thing he noticed was large glowing neon sign that hung above the awing of a bar across the way. It proclaimed "Keep Portland Weird!"

"Odd, a bit brazen, but it has nothing to do with us,' he thought. 'It's a young city as cities go, too.'

Kenzie, too, felt as if she'd been struck on the back of the head with a two-by-four and the inside of her mouth tasted as if she'd been chewing a bag of rusty nails. She spit and ran her hands through her short hair. She spied a public fountain across the way and thought if she could just make it over there she could splash some water on her face, and get a cool drink, too.

It only a matter of getting up, getting there and cupping her hands in the oh so inviting water; 'So close yet so far,' she thought.

The unmistakable smell of wet clothes mingled with the aroma of wet wolf reached her nose which meant that Dyson was still with her. The muskiness was not that bad and she had gotten used to it. "Hey, Dyson," she said.

He was still with her, they were still all right. Kenzie heaved a sigh of relief.

"Yeah, it's me. Are you all right, Kenzie?"

Dyson asked with concerned etched into his voice. His was responsible for her welfare, and although he knew that she could take care of herself rather handily; a lifetime of concern for those under his protection would not let him from refrain of taking that for granted.

She felt her head for bumps or bruises, a little woozy, but otherwise she felt fine. "Yeah. How about you?"

Kenzie, normally, rather prickly about such matters, was actually rather glad that he had exhibited that protective urge because relived to not finding any obvious signs of injury still felt that being Old World it was not nice to have a companion so solicitious of her welfare, as long as he did not go overboard on that protective thing, besides chilvary was not dead, as well.

"I am fine." He was also feeling the long term effects of their pursuit compounded by the portal having dumped them on their derriers in the middle of nowhere. But it was not as if this were an unexpected occurrence and he made a mental note to have a word with the Council's portal creators when they got home.

"Where are we?" She asked standing up and rubbing her tailbone, she felt a little woozy, but it quickly passed, and she was able to stand upright without having to lean on Dyson for support. In fact, under other circumstances she might have feigned wooziness just for the excuse of having the gallant and kind Dyson offer his arm or a shoulder for support. However, Kenzie, figured that she would not do that here.

Dyson glanced around and replied, "Portland, I believe," when he could be reasonably certain of his answer.

More often than not Dyson's ability to orient himself no matter where or even when he found himself had been so finely honed and refined over the years that were he to be set down just about anywhere he could, within a reasonable amount of time; discern his whereabouts. They'd been on the run now for about four or five days, but that not should no matter. Bo, often half-seriously and half-mockingly often referred to his own personal fay GPS system. Coming from anyone else, even his current traveling companion, he might have bristled and made some kind of pointed remark, but not Bo. Dyson still was not certain of the exact nature of their relationship, but he valued nonetheless.

"Would that be Portland on the East or West coast?" Kenzie asked.

She hadn't been travelling very long and even she had to admit that geography was not her forte, having not travelled much outside their native Old Town, but she was vaguely aware that were two cities in the United States that went by that name.

"I don't know but we won't find out anything more by standing around in this godforsaken alley," Dyson said. He shook his head and tried to wring some but not all of the moisture out of his water-logged jacket and clothes. His leather jacket was already considerably worse for wear after the downpour. He was also painfully aware that it had been raining when they stepped into the portal and it was still drizzling here; wherever here was. It did not look that either of them would get warm and dry any time soon.

Following shortly on the heels of that it occurred to Dyson that had best get out of the rain, and then contact their friends to let them know where they were.

How he was going to do that without attracting unwanted attention from their Dark Fay pursuit was something that he would figure out when the time came.

"Yeah, boss, yeah, like let's get out of here and find out what's what!" said Kenzie excitedly, pumping one fist into the air.

The buzzing head-ache had passed and she suddenly felt much better about their chances than she had when they first arrived.

Dyson chuckled and placed one hand on her shoulder. "I missed your unbridled enthusiasm, Kenzie, but perhaps we should operate with a bit more discretion until we have more information."

"Sure, Sure, whatever you say," Kenzie replied, a bit quieter this time. All the same she was determined to experience this opportunity to the fullest.

It suddenly struck her that her sense of self -preservation had not been as acute as it might have been had she not met her friend Bo; and through her been introduced the world of the paranormal, the fay and other things that went bump in the night. Not to mention the often life and death situations that they duo often wound up in because of it. 'Although," Kenzie thought, 'I wouldn't change any of it, not for the world.'

****

The following morning.

 

"What have we got?" Detective Nick Burkhardt question as he and his partner, Detective Hank Griffin approached the crime scene where Sergeant Wu and sundry other uniformed officers were already on hand to secure the area and drape the ubiquitous yellow police tape, 'do not cross' all over the place. 

"Seems we've got one victim, we're ruling it a homicide. One caucasian male, age 51, name's Doug Connolly."

"Positive id?" Hank asked.

"Any idea of the cause of death?" Nick asked.

"You were expecting leprechauns and pots of gold at the end of the rainbow?" Wu guffawed.

"I assume that was meant as a rhetorical question, Wu?" Hank asked offering a wry smile of his own.

"Yeah" Wu replied with an off-kilter smile. He was glad that the two of them had finally brought him on board with the weirdness that went on just under the surface of every day life, and made Portland the grand city that it was; but it was a lot to take in. However, if he were being honest with himself, there was still a sense of that he could not quite take his membership for granted. In the privacy of his own mind he come to think of his situation as a kind of "Jimmy Olsen Blues."

He could never quite bring himself to say the words out loud; they would just come out stumbling and awkward, so for now he just immersed himself in the world of weird, came out to trailer and marveled over the array of information collected on Wessens that would help them solve the case at hand, and leave it at that.

He often wondered if it had been like that for Hank, somehow he thought that it might have been.

"We should talk to the neighbors, see if any of them recalls what happened here last night," Nick suggested.

"Agreed, but that might be tough. According to the ME the natives are restless. Don't want to talk to anyone, seems they've all seen a ghost," Wu said.

"What's got them all spooked?" Hank asked.

Before he Nick had brought him on board to the world of Wessen and Weird that particular remarked had had a much different significance than it did now, but even so sometimes a case was just a case, and sometimes it was the type of case that went bump in the night. Whether this particular one turned out to be the latter rather than the former didn't make much of a difference to him; it still had to be solved, and the victim's family deserved some type of closure. Hank considered himself something of the sanguine realist when it came to such matters, it help to compartmentalize the sheer amount of weirdness and accumulated information thereof in his own mind'; it helped him process it.

"Well, let's go aside and I'll tell you," Wu offered, eying the medical examiner and the other officers going about their assigned tasks.

When they had gone aside Wu heaved a deep breath,and said, "It appears our victim over there died of more than exposure, he's bleeding from the nose, the eyes and ears and his hands are scrapped up as if he was trying to keep his ah, vital fluids inside. Weird, right?"

All of a sudden a piercing wail rose up and echoed through the early spring air.

"What the hell was that?" Hank swore, his ears throbbed, his nose felt tight as if he were about to suffer a nose bleed and his teeth felt as if they were rattling around inside his mouth.

"I think it's what killed Connolly," Nick replied, appearing to Hank' infuriatingly calm about the whole experience.

For his part Nick could feel the vibrations rattle all through him as loud as it was for the others, what with his enhanced Grimm senses it was as if the unnatural howl penetrated through his skin, blood and bones and through all of his defenses.

Nick had seen and dealt with more than his fair share of weird and the supernatural, but this was something else. Even as the wail cut through the air, cut through everyone roaming around the Connolly yard, up by the house and passing by in the street; in the back of his mind, Nick discovered that as unsettling as the wail was, there was also something oddly haunting, melachonly yet beautiful in it.

Then it stopped as abruptly as it had started and left him feeling wrung out and left to dry. Hank was looking at him with worry etched in every line of his dusky face. It was nice that Hank cared but right now Nick did not have the wherewithal to appreciate it. When he had recovered enough he replied, raggedly but clearly, "I'm okay, but we need to find out where that's coming from."

He felt a sudden urge to track it down to its source, he was filled with a tearing hurry, to go, to do; like a through-breed race horse on the day of a big race.

"No arguments there, but that's going to be easier said than done. It sounded like it was coming from everywhere," Hank replied.

Hank felt a little ambivalent about the proposition, one his jaw and his teeth still hurt, two, if the sound of that wail was a distant as it had sounded, then getting closer to it was not in his catalog of good ideas; three, he didn't particularly care for that ragged look in his friend and partner's eyes, and despite all of his other reservations about the idea; that one took precedence over all the others.

"I don't think we'll get anything else here. Wu, wait for the report from the M.E and we'll be in touch," Nick said.

Wu nodded.

"Then let's go," Hank added.

*****

The moon scudded overhead like a ship tossed about in high seas and gave just enough light to see by. The sound of police sirens had faded in the distance and two young people paused to catch their breath.

The taller of the two, his red hair in a tangled mess, leaned up against the trunk of a tree, sweat made his clothes stick to tall, lanky but well-muscled frame, and gulped in air like he could not get enough of it.

The shorter, a girl with a mop of curly platinum blonde hair restrained by a black leather thong stepped up to the railing that edged around the parking lot of a strip mall and laughed with wild abandon.

Her name was Maggie Weston and he had met her at a tattoo parlor that not only specialized in skin adornment but also in hammered silver jewelry, body piercings, New Age music and sundry other offerings.

Rory Connolly could not say what it was about her that had drawn him in, even after several weeks of going out, he still was not completely certain; all he could say that it was like a lump of iron ore drawn to a lodestone.

He did know why he'd been drawn to get a tattoo, one it had been a dare from a fellow classmate at his high school; and second it was a kind of lukewarm rebellion against what he thought of as the narrow-minded and old-fashioned strictures of his rather dour father.

Maggie was like no one else he had ever met; she had spunk and fire, and determination. She also had a penchant for getting into trouble. And although Rory's sensible side kept telling him that he should not keep getting involved in her daring escapades, he kept telling his sensible side to shut the hell up. She would always go on about how she was the only one who could untapped his as yet unreleased sense of adventure.

"That was a major rush," Maggie declared breathlessly.

"We might get into trouble," Rory said.

He'd been saying that a lot lately, and it was beginning to sound a bit lame, or even to the point of lacking conviction. He also thought it had begun to sound like a broken  
refrain from an old pop song, and its intended recipient had begun to tune it out.

His companion stomped one booted foot on the ground and then slapped him on the back, smiling so that all of her white even teeth showed. "So, what? Trouble is what I live for. And you should too. Sensations, reactions. You're way too stiff. And consequences be damned!"

Maggie reached up to drag a strand of ash-blond hair out of her eyes and then lunged forward to give Rory a hug so fierce that she nearly stole what little breath he'd had left after running all that distance. 

"You know, Mags, it helps if you let me breathe every now and again," Rory mock-complained.

She let go with a sheepish grin on her face and her green eyes gleaming with mischief. She rolled up one sleeve to reveal her left arm where a snowy owl had been tattooed on her shoulder.

Rory knew, from when they had been making love, that she also had a green frog perched on her right shoulder, positioned just so that it appeared as if the frog were peering out at the world in with the same casual and direct opposition of its mistress. Just now, he didn't care one way or the other.

"Look, I've told you before, Rory, you're wound way too tight. Letting go is good for you," she said much more seriously than she had before this mad midnight escapade had begun.

"I know that, Mags, and I believe you. It's just that there's a part of me that wants to embrace this new lifestyle, there's a kind of wild freedom that comes with it."

"But," Maggie interjected, waiting as patiently as reckless nature would allow for him to complete his thought.

"But, there's something holding me back," he concluded, ruffling his hair with his free hand, Maggie had claimed his other one.

"Ye know, I love ye, Rory. I love your good heart and even-tempered nature. I love the way you think things through and are always the peace-maker in your family or on the field; and I want every part of you that makes you, well you."

"And I love you, too, Maggie," Rory replied, "but I get the feeling that there's something that you're not telling me. Are you breaking up with me?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Maggie said hastily. "Of late it just feels that you're not as in to me as I am in to you."

Rory, not knowing how to respond to that, took her by her slender but strong shoulders and kissed her on the lips and continued to do so until they both had to come up for air.

And when the broke apart, both flushed and a little breathless it was Maggie who said. "I have to go. And then taking a draw-string bag from where it hung around her waist, she flung a handful of a reddish brown powder into his face. 

The powder looked as fine as the nutmeg that his housekeeper used in her cookies but before that homey thought could garner any others the last thing he saw of Maggie was her hair fanning out behind her as she ran away.

Rory wheeled back and managed to get out, "What the hell?" before the powder got into his eyes, his nose, and his mouth, and before everything around him became to blur around the edges and lose focus, he tired to spit out some of the reddish-brown powder. It did not taste anything like nutmeg or any of the other spices that he had ever heard of, Rory staggered and tried to go chase after her, but his legs and muscles refused to obey him and his attempt at a run became more of a staggering lope.

He kept on, but it was hopeless, there was no way of telling which way she had gone.

He began to trudge home wondering if the cops had finished securing his dad's house and if they hadn't if would no resemble a media circus. Either way he was not looking forward to coming home, even if Inez, the housekeeper were there. It would still feel like an empty house.

He began to feel dizzy and the red-brown powder that had been flung into his face had gotten into his nose and eyes, and onto his hands. A coughing and sneezing fit came over him and he could not see where he was going.

He staggered along not aware of the eye-tracks of the passers-by as he went. He caromed into obstacles, only dimly aware of what he had run into. Eventually he came to a parking lot of a hotel, crossed it, entered the side entrance of the long narrow building, thinking that it would provided shelter for the night. And in the moment before he lost concisousness, 'Why the hell is this happening to me?" And then 'Why does a part of me feel as if this has happened before. Why does that part welcome this coming to be?'

****

It was not much, but at least it boasted a roof over their hands and shelter from the rain. The rent was cheap, and no one asked any questions about who they were or what they were doing there. It was one of those hotel chains were the ads boasted about how they always kept the light on for you.

Dyson had gone out and then come back with a change of clothing and sundry other essentials and was now outside in the hallway getting ice from the machine when a red-headed teenager rushed by him. Dyson, with his heightened werewolf senses could smell him even before he caromed down the length of hallway and collided into him.

The kid was tall and lanky, with red hair that could use a cut, and dripping with sweat, and his eyes were glassy. "Sorry, so sorry. I didn't see you there, Sir," the kid managed to get out before he keeled over and nearly knocked them both to the carpeted floor of the hallway.

Dyson was obliged to support the young man's weight and absently noted that the kid was wearing a hooded sweat-shirt with the logo of the local baseball team stenciled on the front.  
Dyson yanked him to his fast and dragged him inside of their room, yelling, "Hey, Kenzie, are you decent. We've got company."

"What's going on?" she asked, over the muted sounds of the local meteorolgist on the news saying as how the Doppler Radar had detected an a mass of weather patterns that would bring rain for the are for the next two or three days.

"Looks like the kid here is in a bit of trouble, and it's causing all the fine hairs on the back of my tingling. I'm bringing him in because I'd rather not deal with it out in the hallway."

Dyson flung the lanky frame on the bed and regarded him critically, "Young, lanky, reasonably tall, broad-shouldered with the muscles of an athlete, runner probably with that build. Great, just what we need, to be saddled with a high-school kid."

Kenzie shrugged, "Hey, it wasn't my idea."

She idly flipped through channels trying to find something to watch, but at last settled for the local news broadcast. She did give one glance at the semi-comatose kid but otherwise ignored him. If Dyson wanted to bring in a stray lanky teenager that was his lookout.

 

Dyson prodded the kid in the shoulder,"Hey, wake up!"

Rory began to stir and then opened his eyes, "What? Where am I? What happened?"

Kenzie went out and then came back with a Subway bag and six pack of Sprite. "What gives?"

"I don't know. I'm hoping he'll be able to tell us. Who the hell are you, kid?"

Dyson demanded. He wasn't in the mood for giving the kid any slack and he was getting impatient.

"Rory, Rory Connolly and will you quit calling me kid, I'm sixteen."

the young man retorted angrily, but there was not that much heat in it.

"Okay, Rory," Kenzie asked feeling vexed at Dyson's gruff manner and intrigued about the kid. "What can you tell us? Oh, and if it helps jog your memory you've got cobalt blue lipstick on your cheek."

Rory reached up to absently rub it away and sat up a little straighter on the bed.

He took one glance at the cobalt blue stain on the back of his palm and appeared on the verge of losing his composure completely  
and breaking down into blubbery tears, but he soon pulled himself together and stuffed his hands into the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt.

"I, I don't rightly recall what happened last night, it all happened so fast. What I do remember is fragmented, like a dream. It's all one big gray blur." 

"Try and remember," Kenzie encourage.d

"I'll try, but it's foggy, like a dream. Have you ever had one of those dreams where your lost in a fog, or a deep wood. A place that you've known you're entirely life but it suddenly seems completely different?"

"I can relate," Kenzie replied, "Go on."

Rory sighed, and then replied,"Well, in the last few weeks I've been with this really beautiful bold, wonderful girl, and she makes me feel more alive than I've ever felt. I mean, she's really something."

"What's her name?" Dyson asked.

"Maggie," Rory replied.

"Then what's the problem?" Dyson said.

He sighed, thinking 'Of course it would have to involve a girl. Well, we were all young once. What was that old saying, we can't live without them?" Aloud, he said," Go on."

"The problem, as you so eloquently put it, Mister, is that of late whenever I dream that I'm lost in that fog, in the dream I'm not myself."

"Who do you think, ah, dream that you are?" Kenzie asked.

Rory sighed and gulped his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat.  
"This is going to sound completely insane, but lately I dream that I'm some kind of warrior complete with a gold-tipped lance and clad head to foot in antique armor. Crazy, right?"

Dyson exchanged a significant glance with Kenzie then turned back to Rory, "You don't know us and we don't know you, but trust me when I say that there are more things out there anyone realizes and that there might be more to your dreams than you realize as well."

"Then you can help me," Rory said wistfully.

"I think so," Dyson replied, "but I think it would best to stay here for now until I give this some more thought."

"Dyson's the best," Kenzie enthused. 

"The best at what?" Rory asked, but the effect was marred somewhat by a yawn.

He wanted to pursue this particular line of questioning, because he was getting and odd sort of vibe from both the man and the girl,  
but after more than two nights and most of a day without what he would call an adequate amount of sleep, and whatever that powder had done to him, Rory could not quite managed to bring into play the right puppet  
strings in his brain to do so. His body felt as if had been wrung out and left to dry on the clothesline. It ached, and he was exhausted, but when he had rested, he still wanted to pursue it. He just needed to wait for the right time. And staying with these folks probably might be a better alternative than dragging his sorry butt back home.

"You'll see," Kenzie said, patting his arm. "Get some sleep and maybe you'll dream again and when you wake up we'll have some more clues and putting this all together."  
*****

At the trailer.

"I guess its time to hit the books," Hank remarked as they piled in to Aunt Marie's trailer  
and began to delve in to the assorted journals left by previous generations of Grimms.

"Hopefully we'll find some more information on Celtic lore and Banshees, because I believe that's what we're dealing with," Nick said.

"I hope that they're written in English and not Celtic or something like that," Hank replied.

"Hey, if they are, do you think Monroe could read it? He's been a big help with the German and stuff."

Nick nodded and began to pull a random assortment of journals off the shelf and divvy them up among himself, Hank and Wu. Hank was relieved that they would not require the services of an interpreter after all and began to read the entries.

"Yeah, I know what you mean, but we'll cross that proverbial bridge when we come to it."

Wu blew the dust off one journal and thumbed through it until he came to an entry that seemed promising. '"There have been many reported banshee sightings, but it is also said that once a banshee becomes aware of a human's presence she will disappear in a cloud of mist with the sound as of a bird fluttering its wings.'"

Wu frowned, "What would birds have to do with anything?"

"It says here that the origin of banshees dates back to the 8th century. I've never heard of one that would venture out of the Old Country. They're supposed to very territorial, even more so than other types of Wessen," Nick remarked reading another entry. 

"Delightful," Wu opined sarcastically, "Does it go on to say how we get rid of it?"

"However many consider the banshee or Bean Sidhe, meaning woman of the fairies, as nothing more than entertaining folklore while others genuinely believe in her existence. Hard evidence consistently coincided with the death brought about by long term illness or other foreseeable causes."

Hank continued to read. "There had been reports of drowning within the weeks of hearing the banshee's wail. The most famous of these cases was James the first of Scotland who was killed shortly after being visited by a strange Irish seer.'"

"This is interesting," said Wu. "According to a Irish Grimm who emigrated from Ireland around the time of the Irish Potato Famine, it was not uncommon to have Irish spirits who were so dutiful that they traveled with their famalies even when they left to go to other parts of the world. It says here that as frightful as banshees are supposed to be they actually performed a good service."

"Which is?" Nick asked, intrigued as to what good service that be, despite himself. 

"To help through the grieving process and help deal with the loss of a loved one," Wu answered.

Nick opened another book and quickly scanned the pages coming across an entry dated September 7th, 1886. 'I once came across a Bean Sidhe in the Black Hills of South Dakota were a banshee had claimed as her own a patch of land near Black Dog Butte, although I could never determine if the death she foretold was thought of one of the local settlers or her own.'"

"We can't really pin the murder of Connolly Senior on a spirit or even an Irish Wessen," Hank remarked, closing the book in front of him and leaning back in his chair, rolling his head around in order to loosen stiff muscles.

"Agreed," Nick replied, "But banshee or not, someone or something did, and we need to find out what the connection is."

"Wait," Wu said, coming over with another book cradled in the crook of his arm. "I think I've got something here. It says here that a banshee or whatever can only be killed or subdued when they've transformed into their human guise by a crossbow coated with a special treatment mixture of lobelia, aconite and mandrake root."

"I think we've got that here," Nick said.

"Great, just great," Hank sighed.

"But wait, there's more," Wu said. "but only when in human guise, then they are subject to iron like all the Tuatha De Dannan, or the children of the goddess Dana."

"Or we can mix up a fresh batch with ingredients from the Spice Shop," Hank suggested.

"I'll call Monroe and Rosalee and let them know we're coming," Nick said.

Wu nodded, "Which reminds me, one of the Unis called, turns out that Connolly has a son, named Rory."

"We need to find him and have a little talk with this kid," Hank offered. "He might be in trouble and at the very least, he might know what's going on."

"Wu,did you get an address?" Nick asked.

"Way ahead of you. 2300 Larkspur Lane. it's out a ways, but not too far," Wu answered. And by the way according to the duty officer that called, the mother's nowhere in the picture. She lives out in Carolina, not sure which one."

"Then let's go," Nick said. "Wu, good job. Head back to the precinct and check in with the M.E. We don't want any more made of Connolly's death than it is already."

"Yeah, I hear ya," Wu replied.

 

"Do some more digging and if there is any fuss, do what you can to minimize," Hank added.

"Sure thing, let me know what you find on your end," Wu said.

"Of course," Hank replied.  
*********

 

Nick knocked on the door. 

"Who is it?" asked a woman peering through a slit in the door.

"Portland PD, we need to speak with Rory," Nick answered. "May we come in?"

"Oh, of course," the woman replied unbolting the locks and then opening the door.  
"Thank God, you're here. I didn't know what to do when Rory didn't come home last night. I kept thinking that he would and so I didn't call 911."

"Thank you, Miss," Nick said as they went into the house and she led them to the living room.  
where they sat down on the sofa.

"Miss Inez, Inez Gutteriez, but everyone calls me Inez. I'm the housekeeper."

"You mentioned something about how he's been going out every night," Nick asked. "How long has this been going on?"

"Oh, one and off for about three weeks," Inez replied. "The last time I saw Rory he'd been acting strange, agitated, in a tearing hurry to get somewhere, but for the life of me," she sighed and ran a hand through her shoulder-length black hair, "I can't figure out what would be so important that one has to nearly kill one's self in order to get there."

"We need to ask this, you know. But are you aware of any enemies the family might have had?" Hank said.

"Enemies, no, nothing like that," Inez said. "It might be just my own over-active imagination at work but I think that girl is the root of the problem."

"What girl?" Nick asked.

"Name's Maggie. Rory met her at a tattoo parlor. I figure she's one of those juvenile deliquents one reads about in the papers or hears about on the news."

"Is there anything else you can tell us about them?" Hank asked.

"I do know that she's shown up at the scenes of some petty crimes, but there's never been enough evidence to pin anything on here. She's like a ghost, there and gone again in the blink of an eye."

"Do you think it might be gang related, or involve drugs or alcohol?" Nick asked.

"Madre de Dios" Inez exclaimed. "No, no."

"How long have you kept house for the Connollys?" Nick asked, changing his line of questioning.

"Oh, it seems like forever," replied Inez. "But I was only brought on when they moved out to Portland. But you know how one gets to hear things that one normally would not have heard. She shifted position on the sofa. "Well, its not just because of domestic problems that caused the rift in the relationship between the Mister and the Missus."

"What do you mean," Nick asked.

Inez wiped her eyes and sniffled before she regained her composure. "I mean there were some kind of odd happenings, strange happenings of the supernatural kind that took a terrible toll on the Missus' nerves, if you believe in that kind of thing?"

When neither detective reacted to this conversational sally she continued.

"Well, they got divorced and sold the house out in South Carolina, the court granted custody of the kid to Mr. Connolly and they moved out here."

"Mrs. Gutteriez, do you happen to have a current photo of Rory that we can take with us?" Nick asked.

"Of course, Oh Si," Inez replied, getting up and ambling over to the mantel over an unlit fireplace and then taking down a framed photograph and handing it over. "Take it , if you thinki it will help. Poor kid, I was almost like a second mother to him."

"We'll do our best, Ma'am," Hank quickly reassured her.  
************

 

The Chase

Rory took off like a shot his long legs carried him across the parking lot, out into the street and almost out of sight before his absence registered with Dyson. But he quickly gathered himself and roused Kenzie who had been watching the news. One the kid was in no condition to be out wandering around in the middle of the night. Secondly, Rory had been muttering in his sleep about having to find a croich mach before the bean sidhe did, which was even more troubling.

"Where the kid go?" Dyson demanded.

"How should I know? Am I his minder?" Kenzie said defensively.

"Not so much, but the nose knows, as the old saying goes. And right now my sniffer is telling me we'd best be keeping tabs on that kid's whereabouts."

"Why?"

"Because something tells me that something dangerous and paranormal is about to happen and we'd best minimize it if we can."

"Aren't we being a bit over-dramatic?"

"A bit, but get your shoes and coat and we'll get on it the kid's trail. It shouldn't be that hard to follow," Dyson replied.

"Fine, fine, I'm coming,"She was out the door of the hotel room, down the hallway and out the side door when she paused and asked, "We've lost the pursuit of the big bad dark fays, right?"

"Yes, I'm confident of that," Dyson said.

"So this supernatural vibe you've been feeling is something local?" Kenzie asked.

"Yes, but it manifests itself in waves, some stronger, some weaker, but they're all centered around that Rory kid, and we need to find him before something worse does."

"Okay, Dyson, say no more. You've convinced me." Kenzie smiled. "I wouldn't want to miss being at the epicenter of any local big bad weirdness."

"Kenzie, has anyone told you lately that you are incorrigible?"

"No, not lately," she said with an impish grin.

"Be careful, just be careful."

"Aren't I always?"  
***********

 

Elsewhere Nick and Hank were driving around having just come from gathering the herb mixture at the Spice Shop. The cross-bow was nestled in the trunk of their car when someone moving rapidly but with purpose crossed their path.

Nickonly got a brief glimpse but it was enough to know that the person matched the photo that Inez the housekeeper had given to them. The second figure in pursuit of the first was a complete unknown, a glimmer of green and gold as she rushed by and past them.  
Nick leaned over and tapped Hank on the shoulder. "Follow those kids!"

"Sure thing," Hank said obligingly, "but in case you didn't notice the only thing out that way is undeveloped forestland, good for hiking, camping but not much else."

"I know, I know. Go as far as you can in the carand then we might have to ditch it and follow the rest of the way on foot."

"What will do with the car?"

"Call the precinct and arrange for someone to come pick it up. Otherwise we'll just have to come back for it."

"All the same, Nick, I'd feel a lot better if we had a better idea of what we were up against."

"You and me both, Hank," Nick sighed. "And for the record, I've got a bad feeling about this one."

Hank paused and then said, "I realize this isn't really a time for levity, but since Wu isn't here I feel obliged to say what he might have said , ah, something along the lines that you would be wise to trust your instincts young Jedi Master."

Nick pulled out the crossbow, wound it up and placed one of the treated arrows on the string. He sighted along its ash-wood length to judge distance as well the direction of the wind. He figured that he had do it quickly because there was no telling if their opponent might choose to turn and fight, and if she did, they had very little defense against that horrific scream of hers.

If not it was much more difficult to hit a moving target. Either way he wanted to be as prepared as possible.

Nick laughed, "That's exactly what he would have said."

***

Rory stopped running and paused to catch his breath, leaning up against the trunk of a pine tree whose leaves were just on the cusp of budding. He was unaware of how far or how long he had run. He could not recall the last time he had done so' but without knowing how he knew a sharp sensation of clarity that something important was drawn him to this place.

In the distance that same piercing wail he had heard in his dreams rose up above the noise of the wind and sounds of the forest and echoed through the early spring air.

When he recovered somewhat he pushed himself away from the trunk of the tree and veered off to the north east. 

He leaped across a stream, over a fallen log and down into a blind, the kind of hollowed out hole in the ground that hunters use to conceal snares for large animals.

Again he knew that he would find something important at the bottom.  
His clothes were torn and stained but he ignored all of that and continued down.  
He used his hands to push aside the tangle of vines and loose earth and rock and kept going.

For a heartbeat Rory stopped to consider what he was about to do. A quiet voice in the back of his mind whispered to him that his life, even if it meant living without his father, or even going to South Carolina and living with a mother that did not want him, would be better than whatever awaited him at the bottom of this hole in the ground.

In a back corner of his mind Rory told that whispering voice to shut the hell up. The chamber went farther and deeper than he expected and the air smelled musty, but he went on.

There was something here, he could not see it, hear it, smell it, or touch it, but it was there.

Suddenly the entire chamber was filled with a wind that swept by him, through him and swept him up as easily as a leaf, it was like being inside the wind tunnel that scientists use to test fight jet airplanes. It felt, in that moment of perfect stillness that could reach out and take that important item that he had come to find.

Rory blacked out. When he came to, he was no longer Rory. He was taller and stronger and his hair was longer and in his hand her carried a golden-tipped spear.  
*****

 

Maggie had lost Rory's trail and it irked her to no end. She felt torn about the situation. On the one hand it meant that she had to go to the extra effort of tracking him down and bringing him to heel. This inconveniced her and scuffed the soles of black combat boots.

On the other it also meant that the lines of fate, family lineage and blood were converging much faster than she had anticipated and she would have to change her plans accordingly.  
She was so busy focusing on this that she was paying attention to where she was going and skidded to a stop, nearly colliding with Nick and Hank who had come to a large forest clearing.

Maggie pulled away from the tall dark-haired, blue-eyed detective, she had seen the badges that one of them wore around his neck like a lanyard. The suddeness of the impact, brief as it was made her start. Nick had his hands out to steady here and in that moment of contact it felt as if an electric current passed between them.

She did not care for the sensation, and it felt as if he'd burned her. Who was this guy?"  
Instead she focused on picking up Rory's trail again.

At that moment Dyson and Kenzie showed up as well.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Hank demanded.

"Oh, we're just hikers that got lost," Kenzie smiled her pixie-smile and Dyson glowered at everyone in general principle.

"Actually we're here to take care of something rather important so I would thank you not to get in our way," Dyson growled. He wasn't there to make friends and although he couldn't explain what it was about the dark-haired police officer that made his hankles rise up, there was something about him that made him 'itch'.

"This is no place to be and we don't have anyone to send back with them so they're out of harm's way," Hank said.

"Actually, Detective, that's were you're wrong,"Dyson offered. "We actually might have a better handle on this situation than you realize. Have you a kid, red-head, goes by the name Rory."

"Care to explain?" Nick asked.

"I'm Kenzie, and this is my friend, Dyson," Kenzie began. "Oh, it's not like, oh sure, it's not like we're up against a Banshee. I mean who believes in stuff like that, am I right? Thought they were an old Irish myth. You know the spirits that hung out on the rafters of forts and foretold when folks were about to die."

She started and then looked around, saying, "Not that we think anyone is about to die, right Dyson?"

"Oh, I concur," he said.

Hank and Nick exchanged glances not knowing what to say, one that wouldn't sound completely crazy or two, that might actually agree with her outlandish statement.

 

Suddenly, and without warning, Maggie, having been unable to find Rory, was filled with rage, and ran back and attacked the nearest available targets, thinking as she did so that if not for their meddling presence she might have able avoid all of this, or at best, delay it.

She rushed at hanging, having yanked a arm-length piece of wood off of a tree and began to swing it at Hank in a series of vicicious arcs. Even as he defended himself with another piece of wood he yelled over to Nick,"Could you please explain to me why it is that supernatural critters are always so damn strong. It really is not playing fair."

Nick came up running with the specially treated cross bow in his hands. "Hang in there, Hank!"  
The first shot went wide and landed with an audible thud in the trunk of a tree. Nick swore under his breath and quickly wound up and loaded another arrow. It was not like he had an unlimited supply of them and got as close as he could. This time the arrow landed between Hank and his attacker, and Maggie nimbly dodged it.

"You can't stop me, and if you won't leave well enough alone then you will all just have to die!" she screeched. Dyson and Kenzie had tried to intervene, but any attack they made might also harm one of the police officers. It did occur to Dyson to wonder why the one officer was using a cross-bow instead of resorting to his side-arm.

"I think it's you who doesn't understand what has to happen here," Hank grunted.

Just then another figure appeared at the far edge of the clearing where they struggled.

The sheer size and bearing of the figure drew the attention of everyone in the clearing, including the unhinged Maggie. In her half-human, half-banshee guise she dropped her improvised club and ran towards it, crying out something in a language that no one, with maybe the exception of Dyson, might have understood.

Dyson growled, and before it registered with Nick, the other man began to change.  
The transformation was unlike anything he had ever seen. It was not a voge common to Weseen but a supple and subtle shifting of bones, muscles and skin.

However, oddly enough, Dyson's companion, Kenzie, seem wholly unfazed by it.

Dyson, like Maggie, rushed towards the tall, muscle figure in the antique armor.

"We're in the presence of something fay,"Dyson growled."Something that should not be here.  
And you're not equipped to deal with it!"

Dyson tackled Cu Cuchlain like a line-backer in full blitz during a full body take-down.  
wrapping his arms around the big man's middle and using his momentum to wrestle him to the ground. Snarling, he growled, "I don't know if you can understand this or not, but you're going down."

With a heave and very little effort the big man shrugged Dyson off of him and instead went after Maggie. Maggie let out a piercing scream prompting everyone to cover their arms, but he kept coming, jabbing out with his spear.

Dyson snarled, "Take it from me, darling, as one supernatural creature to another, I strongly recommend that you stay down."

"Supernatural," Nick echoed, loading another arrow readying it and aiming it directly at Maggie.

Nick had his finger on the trigger when he felt rather than saw someone come up beside him, grab his arm and disrupt his shot at the last minute.

"Wait, don't kill her!" Kenzie shouted.

"What the hell are you talking about," Nick yelled back. The arrow embedded in the ball of her foot and she screeched like a rusty metal fence.

"This had better be good," Hank muttered darkly.

"If you've got a better idea, let's hear it," Nick encouraged.

Returning to his human form Dyson replied, "I think I do."

Kenzie choose that moment to come up and punch Maggie in the face, snapping the other woman's head back.

"What did you do that for?" Dyson demanded.

"Because I wanted to," Kenzie replied. "And because she had it coming, and because I didn't want to be left out. Good enough for you, tough guy?"

"Here's the idea," Dyson said. "What if we were to take her back with us, as a prisoner."

"Let the court decide her punishment, I could get behind that," Kenzie agreed.

Even as they were thinking this possibility over, a gasp and a heave and the thud of a heavy toppling body falling to the ground of the clearing drew everyone's attention.

The transformation was a sudden as it was bizarre. Both Dyson and Kenzie who had extensive epxerience with transformations were a bit startled. 

The big man's frame shuddered like a tree in a high wind, his torso, upper arms were covered in gashes, the fight between the what Maggie had called Cu Chulain, and Dyson, and what had seemed like a tireless fighting automaton, sank down. One more convulsion and the naked body of Rory lay before them.

"Who would thunk," Hank muttered, scratching at his cheek where a bit of stubble had begun to itch, "Just when you think things couldn't get any weirder they do."

"Careful, Hank, you're beginning to sound like Wu,"Nick joked.

"Yeah, but not that he's on-board, he'd want in on this."

"Yeah, but we're both her and I'm still having trouble wrapping my head around it."

"You can say that again," Hank said. "What about the kid?" He took his jacket off and draped it over Rory's naked body.

"Hank, call for back-up. We're going need extra manpower to get this ah, sorted out," Nick replied.

"Sure thing," Hank replied, pulling his cell phone out of his shirt pocket and hitting the speed dial number for the police precinct.

"What about him?" Maggie sniffed. "He could have had everything both the old and the new world offered and instead, nada, zilch."

"Instead?" Dyson demanded.

"I could tell you, I really could, but I don't feel like it,"Maggie replied. But I won't because I don't expect a mangy, house-broken old werewolf like you to understand any of it."

Dyson leaned close to her and snarled, "Try me."

"No, no, I would much prefer that you remain in the dark," she replied.

"Have it your way, for now, darling," Dyson replied stomping off to stand protectively near Kenzie, "but where you're going we've got people who are very good at getting even the most stubborn and reticient natures to spill their guts."

"I hope you don't mean that literally," Nick remarked.

"Oh, of course not, Detective," Dyson replied.

"Well, that's reassuring," Hank muttered.

****

 

Aftermath

Nick got out the hand-cuffs and placed Maggie Weston under arrest. "You are hereby under arrest for the murder of Mr. Connnoly Senior and the attempted murder of Rory Connolly. You have the right to remain silent, anything you can say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

Nick was just about to add the part about having an attorney or having one assigned by th state when Maggie choose that moment to hurl a gobbet of spit at him. It did not connect and she flung her head in mingled frustration and anger. She tried again, a low hissing sound like the kind a snake would make. This time the spit landed on the patch of ground between her feet and steamed where it landed. 

Maggie snarled at Dyson and Kenzie, "I will not go back. You can't make me go back. Besides I like it here. Besides you got it all wrong."

"In what way?" Nick asked.

"In the sense that you're pining the murder onme."

"You didn't kill him?" Nick sounded dubious, when all the evidence pointed to the contrary.

"Yeah, I offed the old man I'll nae deny that, but only because he was holding the kid back. The stress of her situation causing her Irish roots to come to the fore.

"What were you planning to do with the kid," Hank asked.

"OH, you'd like that wouldn't you? I like it here, I like the way he makes me feel. He reminds me what it was like to be young and in love. I wanted to hang onto that feeling."

"What changed," Nick asked.

Maggie tipped her head back, "Then I realized something."

"This oughta be good," Hank muttered.

"I realized that he was an old soul. Or to be more precise a dual soul. One side that was mortal, the other the spirit of a reincarnated Irish warrior."

"Whoa," Nick muttered.

Hank shook his head. "What does she mean by go back? Go back where? And who would want to leave all of this?"

"Like we told you before, we'll take her back, she'll stand trial with the Court for her crimes," Dyson said.

"What court?" Nick asked.

"Well, the ah Court that deals with this kind of stuff," Kenzie said. "It's all very hush hush if you know what I mean. So we're going to have to ask you to keep it to yourselves."

"I hope it's not like another kind of court that had put Monroe through the ringer for his loyalty to a Grimm, but no one heard him.

Suddenly a small man who stood no more than four feet high appeared, he was small but thick through the neck and broad in the chest and carried himself with a confident bearing that could be seen even from where they stood in the center of the clearing.

"Trick!" Kenzie shouted.

"You know this guy?" Hank asked.

"Actually we do. He's okay," she replied.

"Well, you two certainly made yourselves scarce. Which is a good thing in a way because the hunters that were after you gave up after a while. However, and I can't stress this enough, it certainly made it more difficult for me to find you," Trick said.

"Sorry, Trick," Kenzie, scuffing the toe of her shoes in the grass, "We would have gotten in touch sooner but we were kind of distracted."

"I can see that, so if you're done here, it's time to go home," Trick replied.

"I couldn't agree more," Dyson said, "but we've got someone to take back with us."

The person identified as Trick stood at the threshold of a shimmering cut in the fabric of reality and it hurt Nick's eyes to look at it too long.

"Who is it?" Trick asked.

"A banshee who's been up to no good," Kenzie replied.

Trick sighed, "A banshee, huh? Well, if that don't beat all. I guess it is better that she come with us then leave her behind here to cause even more trouble. All right, but hurry, you know I can't keep the portal open forever."

"We know, Trick, and we're coming," Kenzie said.

"Who is this guy?" Hank asked.

"A friend," Dyson said succintly.

"Once we're through you can count on us from preventing our banshee friend her from causing  
trouble," Dyson added.

"Well, that's a relief,"Hank sighed, wiping his brow. "Wait, you have your own portals?"

"Yeah, come on then, let's go,"Dyson said as he bent down and heaved Maggie fire-man carry style over his shoulder and ambled over to the open portal. "Come along, Kenzie."

"I'm coming, some of us are still garden-variety, you know."

"I know," Dyson said with a smile, but with his back turned to the Portland police detectives only Trick could see it.

Kenzie reached the portal and turned around and waved. "Goodbye and good luck, guys!"The four of them disappeared with a thunderclap and it was all over.

"Well,"Nick began and realized that he had nothing to say. "Well" he tried again.  
"Do you think we could create portals of our own?"

"I doubt it," Hank replied. "It's late and I don't even want to begin thinking about how we're going to spin this one. I hurt all over and it can wait until morning."

"Yeah, let's get the hell out of here," Nick agreed.  
*****

Conclusion

Back at the station Hank sat at his desk staring at his computer screen with his hands tucked behind his head. He hoped he could think of something that would make sense to anyone else that had not been dealing with the world of the weird, Wessen and supernatural on a regular basis.

Nothing was coming to him and he stole a glance at his friend and partner, who was a large reason this sort of thing continued to happen to them. 

Nick straddled his chair and tapped a pen against the arm rest; Hank thought he looked remarkably calm after the very long day and night they had all been through.

Wu sauntered over and remarked, "What? You were expecting pots of gold at the end of the rainbow?"

"Not exactly, Wu," Hank replied.

"You'll fill me in later, what went down, right?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Hey, if anyone had asked me, which they didn't. that was definitely a weird one with a capital W.  
But let's keep Portland weird, so it's all good."

"Do you think we''ll Kenzie and Dyson again?" Nick asked.

"Maybe, but you never know," Hank answered.

"No, not really," Nick replied. "Which begs the question, where did they come from?"

"Yeah, I saw it too, which leads me to think that was not your run-of the mill everyday blutbad voge that was something else."

 

"Yeah, you're right, Hank, but they're being there did resolve the problem of what to do about that girl," Nick said.

"You know, Nick, I'm on board with the world of Wessen and stuff, but I'm not so sure I'm ready to handle the paranormal with the same degree of equanamity."

"I think it's best to keep the whole transformation thing under wraps for now," Nick said.

 

"Not that, the kid, about what's to become of him. At his age, he has maybe one or two years in the foster care system or he'll move out to South Carolina. At that point, it's up to him."

"Yeah, I think our friends, Dyson and Kenzie have that well in hand, wherever it is that they came from."

"Yeah, through a portal, and just how in hell did that Trick manage to pull of that little stunt?" Hank wondered."And don't tell me you're not as curious about that as I am."

"Honestly, Hank, I have no idea. I would give a lot to find out who he was and how did it, but I suppose it's a question for another time."

"Don't supposes he's in the paranormal phone book?That would be too easy," Hank laughed.

"Yeah, but it's late and I'm ready to call it in."

"Got no arguments with that," Hank agreed.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Artwork for Take the Stars From My Eyes by Karrenia (karrennia_rune)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4227888) by [danceswithgary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithgary/pseuds/danceswithgary)
  * [casestory 2015: artwork for "Take the stars from my eyes" by karennia_rune](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4261269) by [TaleWeaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleWeaver/pseuds/TaleWeaver)




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